Retired Navy officer Jones Wanje Price reflects on his 19-year battle for his pension during an interview at his home in Freretown, Mombasa county on March 19, 2026. After 18 years of service, Mr Wanje claims his life savings were liquidated by the state to pay bank debts he had already partially cleared.
When Corporal Jones Wanje joined the Navy on February 24, 1989, he was prepared to face any enemy in the high seas.
The joy of being handed a letter to attend training at the Recruits Training School in Eldoret was unmatched, as he knew he finally had an opportunity to change his life and the future of his family.
“When I first put on that Navy uniform in 1989, I knew I was a servant of the Republic. I had a duty to protect this country with everything I had. In return, I believed the military would protect me and my family,” says Mr Wanje.
After 17 years and 351 days of colour service, Wanje retired in March 2007 at the Kenya Navy Base in Mtongwe, Mombasa County. He left as a Class One Vehicle Mechanic, with a testimonial seen by The Nation describing him as a "disciplined serviceman." He did not know that his most exhausting battle would begin the day he hung up his uniform.
The veteran traded his job for a desperate chase through bank corridors and government offices, pursuing a pension that was being devoured by the very institutions he had sworn to protect.
While the first few months of retirement are supposed to be a time of rest, for Wanje, the rest never came. The monthly ‘check off’ system that had automatically serviced his loans at the then NIC Bank and Barclays Bank while he was in uniform suddenly stopped.
As he sat at home, he expected the Department of Defence(DOD) to finalise his file and send his gratuity to the banks to close his accounts. However, even before he walked out of the Navy gates, the trap had been set.
Retired Navy officer Jones Wanje Price reflects on his 19-year battle for his pension during an interview at his home in Freretown, Mombasa county on March 19, 2026. After 18 years of service, Mr Wanje claims his life savings were liquidated by the state to pay bank debts he had already partially cleared.
A payment processing letter signed by SK Major Dhadho on behalf of the Defence Permanent Secretary in 2007 was the beginning of it all. By writing the instruction to "Recover and send Cheque for the Bal," the Major transitioned the military from an employer to a debt collector.
This directive transformed Mr Wanje’s private bank loans into an official "Government Liability," allowing the state to seize his gratuity at the source and pay the lenders directly without the veteran ever touching a cent of his 18-year reward.
The scribbled notes on a 2008 Ministry of Finance letter reveal the cold mechanics of this liquidation. They show that on September 8, 2008, the Treasury issued Liability Cheque No. 388722 for Sh 644,387. Crucially, this money was not sent to Mr Wanje or even directly to the banks; it was sent to the Armed Forces Cashier at the Department of Defence.
This internal handover signifies that the military took full custody of his life savings, acting as a middleman to settle his private debts.
According to a debit statement seen by Nation, Wanje claims he was coerced into signing a document by a senior officer who threatened that any hesitation would cost him his entire settlement.
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The statement, signed on October 16, 2006, authorised his benefits to be used to settle bank debts, but Wanje was forced to sign this blank form without knowing his pension's final amount or the figures diverted to lenders.
“An officer had folded the top of the form, hiding the details, and told me to sign quickly or lose my benefits. I only saw the full document much later, and I was shocked to find that a witness had signed it in my absence nearly a year later,” says Mr Wanje.
That witness, a Second Lieutenant Waweru, signed the document on September 20, 2007, 11 months after Wanje had put pen to paper. Legally, this gap is a red flag.
“A witness to a signature must be physically or virtually present at the moment of execution to verify both identity and voluntary consent," says legal expert Shadrack Kipkorir of Kipkorir and Wanyama Advocates LLP. "If a witness signs in the absence of the party involved, that document borders on criminality. The person who signed is a candidate for criminal prosecution specifically for forgery and the credibility of the document can be impeached.”
Armed with his discharge authority signed by Major Basawa, Wanje didn't wait for the crisis to find him. He began a desperate circuit of government offices, travelling to Nairobi several times to understand why a file marked 'Entitled to Pension' as early as October 2006 was still gathering dust in March 2007.
After a gruelling campaign of walking from office to office under constant pressure from lenders, a letter finally arrived from the Ministry of Finance Pensions Department on April 25, 2008. It stated that Wanje had been awarded a total of Sh 542,376 and a monthly pension of Sh 6,779.
"A cheque for Sh 58,103 in respect of your pension has been sent to Barclays Digo Road," the letter stated.
The math in the Ministry’s letter, however, revealed a troubling gap. Between April 2007 and February 2008, Wanje’s monthly pension of Sh 6,779.70 should have totalled Sh 74,576.70 in arrears.
Yet, the Ministry claimed the cheque was for only Sh 58,103, a deficit of over Sh 16,000 before the bank even touched his lump sum.
But even that diminished figure became a ghost. While the Ministry of Finance declared the funds had been dispatched, the bank sang a completely different tune.
Retired Navy officer Jones Wanje Price reflects on his 19-year battle for his pension during an interview at his home in Freretown, Mombasa county on March 19, 2026. After 18 years of service, Mr Wanje claims his life savings were liquidated by the state to pay bank debts he had already partially cleared.
In a "Strictly Private and Confidential" letter dated August 15, 2008, the then Barclays Recoveries Officer Nelsons Oindo delivered a crushing blow: the bank claimed they had "not received any payment" toward his loan or the Sh 58,103.30 in pension arrears.
While the government and the bank pointed fingers at each other, the interest "monster" was eating what remained of Wanje's 17 years of service. His loan balance at Barclays sat at Sh 320,774.65 at a staggering interest rate of 15.50% above the base rate. The case was similar at NIC, where his Sh 158,714 loan had begun to accrue aggressive interest and late fees.
“I never expected that my bank statements would become my biggest enemy after retirement," Wanje says. "In the Defence Forces, there is a strategic way things are done; on paper, it is perfect. But the reality is controlled by individuals. In my case, senior officers decided I shouldn't be paid.”
According to the Barclays Bank ledger for 2007, by the time Wanje’s check-off stopped, he owed Sh 343,110. However, the records reveal a strange pattern in his main account. Credit advices were being registered, showing that payments were still being made toward his loan.
If Wanje had been paying out of pocket, the ledger would have recorded those entries as cash or cheque deposits at the teller’s window. Instead, these credit advices represent a direct, internal handover from the government to the bank, bypassing the veteran entirely.
The inputs, however, did not save him much as there was a back and forth for interest slapped on the loan, making it increase to Sh 356,991 by November 2007.
A credit invoice of Sh 59,460 hit his account as a credit advice on November 3, reducing his loan to Sh 297,531. However, interest continued to pile up irregularly until March 2008, reaching about Sh 321,000.
It was not until November 24, 2008, that a sum of Sh 369,464 landed in the account, entered as a classified loan clearance. The bank created a classified entry to pay Sh 320,000, then created another classified entry on November 25 for Sh 37,448 without explaining its purpose, finally leaving Mr Wanje with a mere Sh 11,241.
By signing that blank authorisation, Mr Wanje had allowed the DOD to bypass his own bank account and deal directly with commercial lenders. The Department of Defence had effectively transitioned from being his employer to becoming a debt collector for Barclays and NIC.
Back in August 2005, Mr Wanje’s NIC loan stood at Sh 274,680. For the next 14 months, until October 2006, the military’s check-off system was actively deducting Sh 9,480 from his pay every single month. By the time he expressed his intention to quit in October 2006, he had already paid a total of Sh 132,720 toward that specific debt.
This signifies that on the day the bank wrote its demand letter to the Navy, the principal balance should have been reduced to approximately Sh 141,960.
However, the October 11, 2006, letter from NIC, written by the then Debt Collection Officer Jeremiah Moronge tells a different story. Instead of acknowledging the Sh 132,720 already paid through his salary, the bank demanded a lump sum of Sh 247,923. This signifies a massive discrepancy of over Sh 105,000 that the bank was claiming, despite 14 months of consistent deductions from Mr Wanje’s payslip.
If the deduction continued to March 2007 with Sh9,480 deducted, he would end up with only a Sh 94,560 loan as indicated in his last payslip.
It signifies that the bank was not just waiting for the remainder of the loan; they were effectively resetting the clock on his debt the moment they heard he was retiring.
By the time the check-off stopped in March 2007, the bank claimed he was owing Sh 158,714, and went on to pile penalties for late payment of about Sh 40,000.
Retired officer Wanje was even more confused when the loan was cleared on January 1, 2009.
The Republic of Kenya payment voucher, labelled as "Deposits and Suspense," acts as the final ledger of Mr Wanje’s career. It reveals that in November 2008, the government issued two cheques totalling Sh 644,387 to satisfy his commercial debts, Sh 369,464 to Barclays and Sh 274,923 to NIC.
The banks collected significantly more than they were owed. Barclays took more than the Sh 320,000 it had claimed to need in its final demand letter. Similarly, NIC received a full payout through cheque number 387989, despite only being owed a principal of Sh 158,714 and an additional Sh 41,438 in late fees.
The NIC ledger, in contrast to the Barclays one, was even more opaque. It failed to show the actual amount that entered the account before the deductions were made. This lack of transparency signifies a total loss of oversight. While the Barclays ledger at least recorded the incoming credit advice, the NIC records simply reflect the final, reduced balance, hiding the mechanics of how Mr Wanje’s gratuity was being siphoned off.
This signifies that the banks were not just recouping their losses; they were exploiting the "blank signing" from 2006 to claim whatever figures they desired.
When asked to explain the discrepancy, as well as the surplus the bank retained, NCBA Bank (formerly NIC) declined to provide a breakdown.
"Unfortunately, we are unable to disclose the information as requested to a third party. This would be in breach of the customer's data," stated Sarah Oganga, a customer experience agent at NCBA.
The Department of Defence (DOD) and Barclays Bank (now Absa) also failed to respond to our queries by the time of publication, despite the bank acknowledging receipt of the inquiry. This collective silence from the state and the lenders signifies the final hurdle in Mr Wanje’s 19-year journey.
According to Mr Wanje, the chasing frustrated him, and it was just by grace and goodwill that he survived.
“When I left, I was still energetic. I was new to the outside world. People knew I was an officer, so they would lend me money when I was in need, trusting the 'Officer' brand. But that trust became a burden. It hurts me deeply that my daughter could not continue to tertiary education because of this. I know something happened to deny me my money, however small,” says the retired officer.
It was even more confusing when his account was credited with Sh 24,000 as an excess of what remained after Sh 644,387 out of the debited Sh 668,592 was used to pay his “debt” on August 18, 2009.
Mr Wanje explains that he wanted to seek justice in court, but at the time, the lawyers insisted on suing the entire force. According to Mr Wanje, however, the betrayal was the work of a few malicious officers rather than the institution itself.
Furthermore, the lawyers required the exact amount he was owed before they would proceed with the case.
“The lawyers told me we couldn't move without proof of the amounts I was owed. And where was that proof? Locked in a file at Headquarters. In 2023, I went back to look for those documents, and someone told me they couldn't help me because 'my file has too many documents.' They are hiding behind the volume of their own paperwork,” said Mr Wanje.
Since the payments in November 2008 and January 2009 to settle the debts he owed, Mr Wanje was not content. He began a series of journeys to try to understand how he had lost his entire retirement to debt.
On the top corner of his original discharge authority, a handwritten date serves as a grim marker of his persistence: October 7, 2010. Three and a half years after he had officially left the Navy, Mr Wanje was still using that same frayed document to hunt for his money.
“They stole my payments. They sent a copy of a statement that doesn't even show a cheque number or which account the money went to. It’s just a trail of hand-written notes," adds Mr Wanje.
He sought the help of the Banking Fraud Investigation Unit at some point, whose brief intervention allowed him to finally see the payment vouchers that had been used to empty his account.
Bima House along Harambee Avenue, Nairobi CBD. The building houses the government pensions processing offices.
Between 2011 and 2023, Mr Wanje’s journey became a loop between Ulinzi House and Bima House. In a letter written on November 16, 2015, the Commission on Administrative Justice inquired about his benefits. On February 1, 2016, Lieutenant D Odeny, writing for the Principal Secretary, answered that the money had been used to settle debts.
“The sum of Sh 644,387.60 was recovered from his lump sum and accrued to pay outstanding loans. Sh 369,464.60 to Barclays and Sh 274,923 to NIC Banks,” the letter stated.
Mr Wanje directed his queries to the Department of Defence again in 2024, requesting SI records and pension documents. The DOD responded by shifting the responsibility to the National Treasury.
“The Ministry of Defence assessed your pension/gratuity and forwarded the same to the National Treasury for payment. The Ministry has therefore fully dispensed with its role in the matter,” replied Dr Patrick Mariru, the Principal Secretary for the Ministry of Defence, in December 2024.
The final follow-up ended with Michael Kagika, the Director of Pensions, on October 23, 2024. He stated the lump sum was Sh 650,625, but countered with the 2006 signature.
"Mr Jones Wanje had a government liability amounting to Sh 668,592. This was supported by a debit balance signed by Jones Wanje, acknowledging the liability and authorizing recovery. The same was duly witnessed,” said Mr Kagika.
Mr Kagika added that Mr Wanje was on a monthly pension then of about Sh 10,000.
The absurdity of the math is the clearest proof that the military failed to protect its own. While the Treasury calculated Mr Wanje’s total benefits at Sh 650,625, the Department of Defence submitted a "Government Liability" of Sh 668,592. This signifies that the DOD accepted the banks' figures without question, even when those figures exceeded the veteran's entire alleged life savings.
Mr Wanje says all he wants is justice, as a way to know that his time in serving his country was not in vain.
"For me, justice isn't just a word. It’s being paid what I earned. I have a lot of debt now, and saying 'sorry' without money is no good. My advice to the KDF is simple: give retiring officers their pension documents before they start terminal leave. Don't let a pension officer write letters in a file that the soldier never sees. Don't let one officer’s grudge or an assessment letter mislead the entire institution,” said Mr Wanje.
The institutions failed Mr Wanje by transforming a private commercial dispute into an inescapable state debt. The Navy failed him by compelling a blank signature in 2006, and the DOD failed him by adopting unverified figures as "Government Liability." Finally, the National Treasury and the Ombudsman prioritised a coerced signature over the mathematical reality of a veteran whose life savings were liquidated to pay more than he owed.
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